Title: Hearsay
Characters: Elrohir, OC, Legolas (mentioned)
Prompt: 099. Arrow
Rating: PG
Summary: When he encounters rough water, Elrohir decides he must learn to steer through it on his own.

Imladris, lairë T.A. 187
Green and brown. It seemed as if the ancient forest in the east had invaded the Last Homely House, judging from the number of woodland folk walking its hallways. Well, no, that was an exaggeration, Elrohir admitted to himself as he greeted one of said folk while on his way to the Hall of Fire.

In truth, there were only a dozen and a half Greenwood Elves in residence in the valley and a third of them were billeted in the barracks. The remaining two thirds consisted of scribes, healers and a handful of Thranduil's advisors who had been sent to Imladris for a season of cultural and intellectual exchange. Elrohir's feeling that his home had been overrun with Wood-elves had more to do with the absence of the one Wood-elf who would have made the Silvan delegation's advent most welcome to him. But as he had not come, then every Elf who had was one unwanted Elf too many. An irrational feeling, Elrohir knew, but he simply could not help himself and, thus, did not waste his energy trying to.

Two years to go and he would finally know whether his wish would be granted. Two years and he would either learn that most vital of lessons or delay the learning while he sought another Elf he could trust enough to teach him. For all his broad hints of reciprocation of interest, Legolas had yet to declare once and for all that he would gift his acquiescence on Elrohir come his majority. He could still make a turnaround and rightfully say that he had never made up his mind about Elrohir's request in the first place.

This fear had not only lately come to Elrohir. Since their last meeting in Eryn Galen nine years ago, Legolas had not written him as frequently as he had prior to the Peredhil's visit to the forest realm. And his letters had taken on a peculiarly formal tone. Not cool and secretive, but not very forthcoming either.

The young Elf-knight slowed down a bit as he dwelt on the troubling thought. What had happened that Legolas seemed more reserved with him now of all times? When Elrohir was finally nearing the age when more than suggestive talk and cautious contact could take place between them?

He looked up at the sound of many voices and saw that Lindir and his fellows were approaching from the opposite direction, lutes, flutes and harps in hand. With a start, he saw his parents and Elladan coming up just behind them with a few of their Silvan guests in tow. But they did not see him.

Of a sudden, Elrohir did not wish to join them. He was in a pensive mood this eve and was not certain he was up to the effort of hiding the fact. And they would notice it. Elladan especially would know. Elrohir did not care to have to account for his behavior to them. Not tonight.

He abruptly turned on his heel and hastened around the first corner ere they spotted him. Whereupon he slammed into another Elf.

While Elrohir managed to right himself, the other Elf landed on his rump on the floor. The twins had grown much in the last few years and not just in height and girth but also in heft. Small wonder the slighter Wood-elf could not withstand a collision with the younger twin even if he still had a few inches on him.

Elrohir hurriedly helped the other up, profusely apologizing as he did. Only when the Elf lifted his head after dusting himself off did he recognize him.

This was the counsellor who had confronted Legolas way back about his friendship with Elrohir. What was his name again? Beldulus? Elrohir had not known he was with the delegation. He and Elladan had only returned from a week-long scouting expedition with Glorfindel the afternoon before and thus had not been around to welcome Thranduil's envoys.

Beldulus stared at him likewise in recognition. "Ah, 'twas an accident," he stiffly said, waving away his apologies.

As he began to walk past Elrohir, he winced and gingerly rubbed his backside. At once, Elrohir took his arm and said: "You are hurt. Let me help you to the healing halls."

Beldulus shook off his hand. "Nay, 'tis probably little more than a bruise," he dismissed. "I am perfectly able to get around, hîr neth."—young lord.

"Are you certain?"

"Quite."

At a loss as to how to end their exchange on a more amicable note, Elrohir impulsively said: "I hope you are enjoying your visit to our fair valley."

The counsellor stared at him in some surprise, then nodded and replied: "We are. Your sire is an excellent host."

"As your king was to us years ago," Elrohir replied, returning the compliment to his father. "I trust he is well?"

"He is," Beldulus affirmed, unbending just the least bit. "The forest has been quiet of late."

"And Legolas? How does he fare?"

Beldulus's expression abruptly altered. All traces of congeniality fled to be replaced by a flinty glare. Elrohir started at the sudden change.

"The prince is very well," Beldulus said with a touch of frostiness. He looked at Elrohir somewhat speculatively. "Indeed, the most avidly discussed topic these days are the wagers regarding his latest exploit."

Something about the way the Elf uttered that last statement set off warning bells in Elrohir's mind. "Wagers?" he repeated, daring to fish for more information.

The counsellor smirked. "That is correct. It seems he has been eyeing someone for many years," he unexpectedly supplied. "I confess, it took many of us by surprise when we learned of it. But then our prince was not known for restraint in his youth and, while he has tempered some, it seems his predatory urges have not entirely vanished." Seeing Elrohir's growing uncertainty, he added just a tad snidely: "Of course, considering how unusual this Elf is, it is no wonder the prince set his sights on him. And so he bides his time, awaiting the young one's coming of age ere he plucks him from the vine so to speak."

Pain lanced through Elrohir as if he were struck in the heart with a bowman's bolt. Legolas had been toying with him? He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of having been little more than prey to the archer. And willing prey at that!

He became aware that Beldulus was watching him closely, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. The counsellor was enjoying his discomfort, Elrohir realized, his ire flaring. Well, a pox on him! The younger twin struggled not to allow any more of his dismay to surface.

With a monumental effort, he met Beldulus's gaze and coolly said: "That is interesting news, counsellor. Legolas will be most grateful to you for keeping us abreast of his latest endeavors."

He took small comfort in Beldulus's sudden consternation. With a dip of his head, he left the Elf to his apprehensions and walked back the way he came.

His first impulse was to hasten to the Hall of Fire and inform his parents and twin about what he had learned. But he swiftly reconsidered the move. They would automatically forbid him to continue keeping in touch with Legolas and that would end all chances of discovering the circumstances behind Beldulus's sordid tale. This Elrohir did not desire. For he still preferred to know the whole truth even if it deeply wounded him, than learn only a fraction and wonder evermore about the parts of the story left untold.

He returned to his quarters instead to think the situation over.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tried to make sense of his discovery. His thoughts collided and scattered in riotous disharmony for many agonizing minutes before he was able to corral them into some semblance of order.

It seemed so out of character for Legolas to be open about his intentions if he truly meant to pursue such an ignoble course, he reasoned. Surely he knew word of it would get to Elrohir somehow and that would be the end of it. Perhaps there was more to this than Beldulus had said or knew. Besides, Elrond and Celebrían believed Legolas was sincere and Elrohir completely trusted his parents' perceptiveness and judgment of character.

A wave of lassitude washed over him, his seesawing emotions leaving him feeling drained and adrift. Crawling onto his bed, he decided to wait until the morrow ere taking action whatever that action may be.

Sleep did not come easily, however, nor was it restful when it finally took him. His dreams were troubled though he could not remember them when he awakened before the crack of dawn. He sat up, his head throbbing from the lack of peaceful slumber. And his heart was no less burdened than it had been the night before. He placed his hand over his breast, as if feeling the verbal arrow still lodged therein.

He rose from the bed and walked out onto the balcony. It was still very dark but the stars were no longer visible and wispy tendrils of light were beginning to streak across the firmament. He stepped back into his room, his eyes roaming aimlessly until they alighted on the writing desk.

Elrohir stared at the desk, a course of action quickly forming in his mind. He would get nowhere ruminating over the dilemma by himself. He would have to take this figurative bull by its horns if he wished to resolve the problem to his satisfaction. Yea, even if it broke his heart and tainted his trust.

A half hour and several discarded drafts later, he slid a folded sheet of parchment into a small leather case. This he fastened to the leg of the haggard that had borne witness to his correspondence with the woodland prince over the years. He watched as it took flight, soaring up toward the rose-tinged sky until it disappeared from his sight.

The Elf-knight hunkered down to await the hawk's return, faint hope barely staving off the threat of disillusionment and the sharp ache of first love under siege.

Glossary:
lairë – Quenya for summer
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great

To be continued...